Dead
by AlicePaw
Summary: The time for Sebastian to take Ciel's soul has come, but it turns out Sebastian will have to be patient and wait a "tad" more to finally be able to devour such a delicacy (which, not surprisingly, is quite rare to find). However, it just so happens that Snake is more knowledgeable about Ciel's situation than expected. Reviews are appreciated, as well as feedback! :)
1. Chapter 1

With no resolve whatsoever to initiate the preparations for the next day, Sebastian hastily (but quietly, for the young master could not be disturbed at such an early hour), made his way to the manor's library. Of course, when Sebastian first arrived at the manor, he had made sure to peruse all of the books, (just to assure himself that he was familiar with the current epoch), but no ramifications arise out of being excessively assiduous, correct?

He picked out a red-leather bound book and started reading, already more than halfway through it. Sebastian's only hope was that the young master would finally be able to settle down and cease his perpetual demands for warm milk or tea. As of lately, the Queen had not supplied them with any new cases, and the young master was simply restless. Sebastian had tried multiple things to get him to rest, but none of them had _really_ worked. Sebastian, being the demonic butler that he was, had faked understanding, assuaging all of the young earl's worries (although inside, he was cursing his existence, his only solace found in the impending doom of his master and the future regale his soul would serve as). Had Sebastian not been a demon and the boy not his meal, then perhaps he could have become fond of the young earl, but such a thing was not possible, considering the voracity building up in him and the young master's exquisite soul.

Having finished more than half of the books in the gargantuan library, Sebastian went to check on his (hopefully) slumbering master. What he found, however, was not a sleeping child, but a petite figure staring outside the bedroom's window. Sebastian sighed, for he knew that the young master would immediately refuse to go back to sleep once asked to do so. That obstinate child.

"Young master? May I inquire as to why you are not in bed right now?" The dark haired boy slowly turned around to look at Sebastian, the dark bags under his eyes clearly visible from Sebastian's position.

"It's not your place to question your master, Sebastian, especially not about such trivial things."

"My apologies, milord. However, I beg to differ. You seem quite exhausted, and yet you cannot sleep, young master. Is that perhaps the result of a bad dream?" Ciel looked at his butler menacingly, but only for a few seconds. After that, he turned around, letting out a forlorn sigh.

"No, it's nothing of that matter. I was just mulling over a letter I had received this afternoon." Sebastian could not recall receiving any sort letter for the young master, so he assumed that one of the other three servants (or maybe Tanaka?) had given it to him while he was out running some errands. Even if that was so, something seemed to be off. Why had the young master kept quiet about the letter until the status quo?

Ciel gingerly extended his hand with the envelope towards his butler, as if Sebastian might tear his arm right out of its socket. Sebastian took the letter, opened the envelope and started to read. After no more than a few seconds, Sebastian regarded his young master, a smirk slowly coming to rest on his face.

"It seems as though you have been dismissed from your position as Queen's Guard Dog, young master. My, however will you be able to complete your revenge now?" Ciel glared at Sebastian, clearly not pleased with his remark. Taunting his master had become one of Sebastian's pastimes, although the same thing could not be said for Ciel.

"We both know that my revenge was complete long ago, demon. So tell me: why did you not devour my soul?" Sebastian's smirk turned into a virulent smile, his fang-like teeth clearly visible from miles away. Ciel's glare only intensified, his eyes ready to blast a hole through the wall.

"I am genuinely surprised to find that you did not figure this out until now, young master," Sebastian said, earning a snarl from his master. Sebastian, clearly amused at how easily his master had taken the bait, continued with a tone that many would classify as daunting (the young master not being part of the majority, of course). "If I would've done so, then your soul would not have become one of the finest to ever graze the Earth. Although I _am_ a bit disappointed. I would have expected you to be more reluctant to give up your life, especially to the likes of me," Sebastian said, dauntingly. He waited for a reaction in his master, but none came. How very disheartening.

"Reluctant, you say. I was not reluctant when I made the contract with you, and I shall not be reluctant now either. Just hurry up and get it over with." Perennially adamant, Ciel carried himself high, but Sebastian hoped for so much more. Where was the despair? The _pleading?_ Nonetheless, his master's soul would still appease the intense hunger he felt, if only for a few decades. His master's figure got closer and closer to him until master and servant were only a few centimeters apart.

"Make it hurt, Sebastian. Carve the pain of my existence into my soul." Sebastian grabbed his master by the shoulders, inevitably forcing the boy to serve as a leaning post for his butler.

"Now, where would be the fun in that? I'd much rather have you wither like a flower; hopeless, alone," Sebastian whispered in his master's face, his eyes glowing a radiant magenta. "And _scared_." Sebastian could feel his master's slight quivers, which succeeded in coaxing another smirk on his face.

Without hesitation, he smashed his lips against his startled master's, receiving a small gasp for his efforts. He searched for his master's tainted soul, deep down inside his corrupted heart. He could already feel it inside him, penetrating his thoughts, corrupting his nonexistent heart, _just by being there…_

But it was only the ghost of his master's soul, no longer reachable. Sebastian stepped away from Ciel, angrily flinging him away. He turned towards the door and stormed out, leaving a shocked Ciel behind.

 _Why hadn't he consumed my soul? What happened?_


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter contains attempts at suicide, so when you see -, stop reading if you don't like reading about the aforementioned subject. Resume reading after you see another -. Also, I won't be able to update due to me being in another country for the entirety of next week, so please forgive me. Otherwise enjoy :)**

The sounds of hasty footsteps quickly effaced, and such a thing also seemed to happen to Ciel's placid demeanor. Did Sebastian change his mind? After three (painfully slow) years of enduring his sorrow and pursuing revenge (which, in the end, turned out to be futile, since said revenge was long ago completed), Ciel craved death, much like Sebastian craved his soul.

 _Well, used to._

Suddenly, fueled by an insatiable desire to find out why Sebastian blatantly refused to consume his damned soul, Ciel stood up from his rather awkward position (for he had indeed landed on his rear, as trite as that might be) and briskly walked through the open door – and continued walking down the hall. Desire became hunger; a great hunger for answers, which refused to shrivel like the type of hunger one might expect after gorging on a grand feast. With a desperate need for answers and the resolve to acquire them, Ciel burst through Sebastian's door (probably causing some – hopefully – minor damage to the hinges), only to find the room empty and devoid of a ransack. If Sebastian wasn't here, then where the hell was he?

 _The library._

This time, however, Ciel did not waste any time walking; instead, his legs simply sped through the manor, his breath hitching slightly only after avoiding an impending collision with an intricately-carved table, on which a demure vase filled with a conglomerate of flowers (that Ciel failed to remember the names of) stood. Another such collision was about to happen when Ciel almost ran into the double doors of the library, thankfully opening them in time before acquiring a bleeding nose.

 _Sebastian._

Ciel did not expect to see his butler, his eternally _composed_ butler, scrambling around the library's shelves, looking for something that probably could not be found in the Phantomhive Manor's collection of novels, anthologies, dictionaries, and textbooks. So focused was the butler that the boy's presence went completely unnoticed. Ciel's mouth opened in anticipation, as if it knew what query its master would vocalize.

"Why can't you just take it?"

Ciel expected to be lunged at, bludgeoned (perhaps a caterwaul would have gone well with that; maim his body _and_ his eardrum), but all he got was an abrupt stop in the butler's scrambling. Except that wasn't all.

Sebastian slowly turned around and walked over to the young earl, for he could no longer consider that vile creature his master. He could not even force on one of his fake (but nonetheless pleasant) smiles, for all this time, the miscreant had tricked him into aiding him. And now? His soul was only half there, making it impossible for the demon to consume.

"Why can't I take it, eh? Shouldn't _you_ be the one telling _me_? What do you say, now, little _Ciel_?" Despite Sebastian's lighthearted tone, his eyes glowed brightly, outshining the light of the full moon coming through the window. None of that intimidated Ciel, instead only forcing anger to grow expeditiously from a little sapling into a majestic tree (although maybe less majestic when seen on one's countenance).

"Well, I _don't_ know what I'm supposed to tell you, because I have no idea what's going on! In case you haven't noticed, between the two of us, YOU are the expert in souls and other supernatural crap. So tell me: why can't you–"

And with that, Ciel felt a painful sting on his left cheek, followed by yet another slap on his right. With both cheeks already starting to redden, Sebastian strode past Ciel, flinging his tailcoat at his ex-master/contractee and exiting through the open doorway – although he did have the gallant thought of leaving his master with a few words of farewell, which were hissed through fang-like teeth and said spitefully, in hopes of distressing Ciel.

"Why don't you find that out yourself, _reaperling_."

And with those magnanimous words of good-bye, Sebastian left Ciel, with a great dilemma and two bruising cheeks. Ciel gritted his teeth and pursed his lips, deciding that if Sebastian couldn't take his life, then he would himself.

Slowly, Ciel traipsed to the window in the library, opening it gingerly, almost regretting even considering such an audacious option. He wished not be defeated, and yet he would be willing to succumb to an opponent such as death? If his soul would – could—have been consumed, he would have died for _something_ —the completion of his contract with a demon. Perhaps he was born for the sole purpose of being humiliated and toyed with, whether it was he who toyed with himself or others who humiliated and deceived him.

 _Humans are all the same it seems; duplicitous and manipulative._ -

So for the duplicitous race of which he was part of, Ciel climbed on the white marble balustrade, closed his eyes, reopened them (for he did not want to seem like a coward in front of death), and jumped. Down he went, the wind slapping his already bruised face, making it impossible for him to breathe. The howling wind numbed him with its fierce slaps, which did not help in the least when he felt blinding pain shoot through his body and blood pool around him, blooming like a beautifully rose.

He did not breathe, did not speak, did not scream, did not cry, did not move an inch. How could he? He was in pain; pain that intensified by the second.

Yet he was alive. He could not understand how, or why, but he _was alive._ He hurt, both on the inside and the outside, but he was alive.

And that in itself caused a plethora of pain. So Ciel limped back inside the mansion, and he jumped, again and again, each time bearing more pain than the next. Once he realized his attempts were futile, he immediately switched tactics and went to the kitchen, only to find a butchering knife lying on the countertop. Hands shaking, he took it and plunged it through his stomach, his back, his heart.

Bleed he did, but die he did not.

Refusing to acknowledge the pain in which he was, the earl went to his bedroom to retrieve the pistol lying under his pillow. He raised it up to his head (even though that sent tingles of pain shooting through his arm) and pulled the trigger, waiting for his body to fall limply on the ground. Instead, he felt the bullet hit something inside of his head and bounce back, almost as if nothing had happened.

He could not die.

Dropping the pistol, Ciel slowly stumbled out of his room, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes yet trying to push the pitiful things away. He had lost this game. Death was merciless with him, not even allowing him to die a defeated death. Not even allowing him to die any death. He touched his cheek and looked at his hand, full of dried blood and shameful tears.

Tears. He had not cried in so long, and _now_ he did just because he couldn't die? Or because the one person he trusted fled without any form of penitence? Or was it because he couldn't even win a fucking game with a pathetic opponent? Maybe the problem wasn't his opponent. Maybe he _himself_ was pathetic. Ciel took a handful of his hair and pulled, as if pulling at all his frustrations. But, just like all of his vexations, the strands of hair did not come off.-

He couldn't even rip out his own hair. He clenched his fists and stumbled on, berating and castigating himself all the while.

Abruptly, Ciel found himself at the end of a long hallway and, wanting to escape, he entered the first door he saw. He couldn't even have time to do anything but shut the door when a young man with white rambunctious hair and scales worriedly knelt in front of Ciel, worry prevalent in his face.

"Smile! Are you alright?." And then, appraising his master in a more careful manner added, more for himself than for Ciel, "wait, of _course_ you're not alright. You're _bleeding_ all over. What happened? And..where's Black?" The young earl just dipped his head, in order to prevent his servant from seeing the tears running down his cheeks. Snake, quickly realizing that his questions were troubling the young master if nothing else, quickly helped him sit down on his narrow bed and went to get some bandages, gauze and antiseptic (which he kept in his bathroom—being the footman of the manor, he did not have to share with Finny or Bard). While he was fetching the necessary medical supplies, Ciel wiped his tears on the sleeve of his nightshirt, folding it outwards so that the wet splotch could not be easily spotted.

Snake soon emerged from the bathroom and proceeded to wipe off some of the blood on his master's arm, causing even more blood to inundate Ciel's soft skin. The earl did not flinch, although he silently cursed under his breath. The shrewd footman, realizing that trying to wipe the blood away with a handkerchief was not a very intelligent way of going about it, dumped a cloth into a bowl of lukewarm water (which he had also thought to bring along, just in case) and started cleaning his master of the dried blood on his body. After properly dressing the master's wounds and tucking him in his bed, Snake took the pitcher of water by his bed (that was kept there in case Snake got thirsty in the middle of the night) and filled a glass of water for the master (who had calmed down reasonably, but could not hold the glass of water pushed to his lips). After swallowing a few sips of the cool liquid, Ciel's mind cleared a tad and he sat up, pushing the sheets away, apologizing for the abrupt intrusion. Snake only smiled at his master's childlike behavior and encouraged him to lie down and rest. Ciel only shook his head, saying that he couldn't do that, even if he tried.

"If you don't want to sleep, can you at least tell me why you're injured?" Snake sat down by the foot of the earl's bed, trying not to cause any discomfort to his already maimed master. Ciel's gaze slowly lowered, not wanting to confess his multiple suicidal attempts. Snake smiled reassuringly, not wanting to cause any further distress to his master.

"Alright, then. We'll just leave this for tomorrow, I guess." Ciel shrugged and let out an almost inaudible "sure", which was barely acknowledged by Snake's ears. The footman stood up, heading towards the open door, probably in order to close it.

"Although I wouldn't recommend it," he added. "I don't think you'd be able to get much sleep with the contract mark slowly being erased from your eye. Believe me when I tell you that it's not pleasant" Ciel's eyes widened and he felt inclined to let out a small gasp (but refraining himself from doing so just in time). He looked at his footman and swallowed, doing his best to hide his bemusement and fear.

"H-how did you know about our…contract?"

"That's easy," Snake said, smiling. "Emily saw the mark on Black's hand, and it was just a matter of time until I figured the rest out. You know, with your eye patch and all."

Ciel nodded, already starting to feel sleepy. Of course, he couldn't go to sleep now; he just had one more important question to ask.

"So how did you know that it ended?" Snake resumed his spot at the foot of Ciel's bed and gingerly tucked the thin sheets around his master, hoping to help him gain some semblance of warmth in the frigid attic.

"Simply because the contract mark in your eye has already started the process of being erased."


	3. Chapter 3

After seeing Ciel's ashen face and subtle trembling of his hands, Snake felt compelled to take back his words and bite his tongue, in order to prevent other similar phrases from escaping his darn mouth. He _knew_ that informing his master about his knowledge of the contract between him and Black would (in some way or another) arouse fear in him. And, unknowingly, he had also informed him of the upcoming process of the removal of the contract mark, which was probably aiding his master's imagination in conjuring up the most painful of experiences. He had stated something that invited a lot of misunderstanding, and he had not a semblance of an idea of how to fix it.

If Oscar or Wordsowrth, or even Emily, would've been there, they would have never let him relay such information to his master. But because of the cold air in the attic, his friends could not slumber there, even though _he_ could (with no theory as to why that could've been).

"Is…there any way to numb the pain? Or any way to stop it?" The reluctance on Ciel's face was palpable, but Snake was still grateful for the master's inquiry.

"As far as I know there's no way to stop it, but I would think that the pain you'd feel would be no more than an unpleasant pressure on your eye. Pain is always worse for the ones who terminate the contract, as a sort of punishment, perhaps."

"But how can you be sure that _I_ didn't terminate the contract?"

"It's not exactly the easiest thing to do—break a contract, that is—but it's possible. You'd probably still be thrashing in your room if that were the case, though."

Ciel still seemed a bit wary of the situation, but it seemed as if all of his previous worries had been assuaged.

"But the pain would still be too unpleasant for me to go to sleep?"

"That depends. Right now I don't think it would really be preventing you from getting some sleep, but if it _does_ become troublesome, I could just wake up the oth—"

"Do they know about the contract, too?" Ciel had quickly adopted a suspicious nature, his tone abruptly becoming tense.

"I don't think any of them know about it. But why don't you want me to wake them up? If you're going to start feeling worse, then I'll have to let them know and—"

"I do not wish for them to see me this way. I thought I had made this clear a long time ago," Ciel said. He spoke slowly and in a low voice, almost as if he was reprimanding a child much younger than him. Even so, Snake could not feel anything resembling petulance towards the young master. What he felt was more like pity, although he knew that were he to express this emotion, his master would be infuriated by Snake's brittle "version" of himself and would almost certainly do something rash to prove Snake wrong. So Snake figured that to avoid saying any other aggrieving things, he would keep mum for the rest of the night. Or maybe…

"Well. Just call if you need anything," Snake said, reopening the door which he so hastily closed not a few minutes ago. "I'll be sleeping in Finny and Bard's room." He did not mean to sound so spiteful, but without his snakes it was difficult to ascertain what was gauche and what was not.

He wasn't the most gregarious of types.

Ciel lay down and turned his back towards the door, opting to stay silent as Snake left the room.

He waited. Not for the pain, because it was already pervading his previously violet eye, but for something else. Trepidation filled his lungs, daring him to breathe. Ciel didn't cease his regular inhalations and exhalations. He could at least be victorious in this confrontation.

In the dark room, he waited. He did not close his eyes; although he could not see, he knew that once he closed them it would come for him—lumbering past the night table and slowly enveloping him. Not in a warm embrace, but in a cold grasp.

Catatonic, he waited. His ears wary of any odd sound, he lay there on his servant's bed, stock-still, making sure that there was not one person in close proximity. When his ears confirmed his complete solitude, he finally loosened his muscles, also letting loose a small drop of water from his dark teal eye. Following the solitary tear came a choked sob which Ciel tried to conceal, instead forcing copious whimpers and deplorable sobs to be pulled out of his dry mouth.

Ciel pulled the sheets over his head, wishing desperately to disappear from existence. _No,_ he told himself. _Don't think like that. You're just tired—and confused. You'll be fine by tomorrow. You'll be the strong Ciel everyone wants to see, and you'll figure something out. You always do, don't you? Now just stop crying. You're not an infant, for pity's sake, so stop crying. There, just wipe your tears and—oh just STOP CRYING WILL YOU?!_

The young earl let out a shuddering breath and wiped his sore eyes with his already drenched sleeve. He wasn't weak. There wasn't anyone there to witness this, so he wasn't weak. As if to prove that, Ciel raised the hem of his nightshirt to expose his undershorts and many wrapped stab wounds. Snake had not inquired about the reason for their existence.

With great care, he unwrapped his bandaged abdomen, expecting to see a gash, possibly still leaking a bit of blood. What he got instead was unmarred skin, devoid of any kind of blood or vestige of his many suicidal attempts. For the umpteenth time that night, his eyes widened, his breath suddenly catching in his throat. Ciel lowered his nightshirt, concealing his freakish body.

When had he become a grim reaper? And how could he have overlooked such a momentous fact?

How could _Sebastian_ overlook such a fact?

"It seems I have arrived a little later than expected. My bad." Ciel started, surprised. He hurriedly wiped his eyes and any remaining remnants of tears on his pale cheeks before pulling the sheets off his body and coming face to face with the intruder. The boy started again, surprised to see the flamboyant grim reaper in his manor. He got out of bed in a mere two seconds, bumping into a tall figure as he took a few backward steps. For the second time that night, Ciel dared not move.

Grell chuckled, looking Ciel up and down. "Or maybe I've come just at the right moment."

 **A/N: Okay, so here it is! Sorry for taking so long on it (I wasn't sure where I was going with this chapter until I started working on it), but the next chapter should be coming soon (I hope). Again, mea culpa for the belated chapter.**


	4. Chapter 4

Grell cackled, stumbling over his own feet until finally he stood in front of Ciel, clutching his abdomen with one hand, swinging the other around. The earl assumed he was searching for support. His speculation was soon confirmed when Grell's left hand found the boy's shoulder and leaned on it, coaxing his right hand to rest on the other shoulder. Their owner was oblivious to the scathing looks he was receiving from the boy. Grell sighed as his laughter tapered off.

"Ronnie, did you get to look at the little brat's face?"

Ciel could hear the other reaper chuckling, which only served as another reason for his blood to boil.

"Yeah, he did look kinda scared."

"I did not look scared," Ciel said, gritting his teeth. "But even if I was frightened, I have every right to be! You burst into my manor this late at night, wake me, and then you expect me to condone such behavior? What—"

Grell yawned, rolling his eyes. "See, I told you; recruiting new reapers is such a bummer. What makes it worse is that I actually know him! Can you believe my luck? It's like the moment I saw this date on his file, I _knew_ he was gonna be assigned to us." He scowled, appraising his nails.

"Oh, come on, he's not that bad. I've seen worse. You've seen worse, Grell. And his soul's still attached to his body, so we don't even have to come back for it—I'm sure he won't be making any trouble for us" the reaper said, patting Ciel's shoulder. The boy let out a low growl before stepping away.

"Would you quit with this nonsense? I'm bloody tired and I have no time for your shenanigans at this hour!" The reaper behind Ciel gave him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, kid, we've been sent here on a job," he said, and before Ciel could protest, Grell's hands vanished from his shoulders, tautly wrapping themselves around his waist. He then found that his legs were no longer in contact with the floor, giving him a slight sense of unease.

Although he didn't see how something as petty as unease could stop him from grappling with his captor.

With his arms caught between Grell's grip and his own body, the only available weapons were his legs—which he hastily made use of by shoving the heel of his foot in the red-haired reaper's shin.

Apart from a tightening of his grip and a series of expletives directed at the young boy, no other reaction was perceived by Ciel.

Still, he did not cease to kick and struggle, if only for show.

Behind this facade, he smiled. Not because it was amusing, or because he was enjoying this.

He only needed to do something that didn't feel like evading.

It just so happened that doing that would technically be the same thing.

When the two reapers attempted to jump out of the window, he spotted the flailing skirts of a dress.

No.

A woman's nightgown.

He could see the outline of her glasses, the feeble glint of them being raised and placed atop of a head full of plum-red hair, and…

She's not the only one awake.

He knew because he saw a mischievous smile cross her face. It was ephemeral, but she knew he'd spot it. He was looking straight at her after all.

The reapers had seen her too, but not before a bullet whooshed past the blond reaper's nose, instead finding another target: the outer wall of Snake's bedroom.

A warning shot. Just Mey-Rin's way of greeting uninvited guests.

Ciel could almost see the words 'friendly advice' etched on the bullet's casing.

"Shit! That was close."

"We can't kill them, so we'll have to leave before any more of those pesky servants arrive," Grell said, screwing his face up and sticking out his tongue.

 _Have you never heard of jinxing before?_

The trio (or the duo and the reluctant Ciel) moved to the roof of the manor, hoping to avoid any further trouble.

The two reapers wanted to get their job done, and Ciel wanted to return to a warm bed. Any kind of bed would do, as long as he'd be able to rest.

Why did he not listen to Snake when he advised him to get some sleep?

Now with a clear view of the ground below, the earl could see a mop of blonde hair near the garden, trying to remain unseen by hiding behind a statue.

Finnian.

But the gardener never hid. Ciel had nearly forgot about his youngest employee's strength—mental and physical. The statue, like the bullet, whooshed towards them. But Finny's blows were always intended to kill, never to give the targets a warning.

Mey-Rin refused to admit that her missed shots were, in fact, warnings, even though all of the Phantomhive servants (and Ciel) knew otherwise.

Ciel felt Grell's grip loosen as he barely managed to dodge not only the statue, but another bullet. The other reaper wasn't so fortunate. Just as he managed to dive, a bullet smashed into him. Ciel could not make out the exact spot—everything, from articles of clothing to bare skin, was rife with the red substance that Grell adored.

Would he, after this?

They had taken the pair by surprise. They didn't expect another adept shooter.

The cook knew how to take guests by surprise. All he had to do is bake something foul, something the gentry would be repulsed by. Something to drive the visitors away, and to ascertain their permanent departure.

It's that simple.

There are only two options to make sure the visitors never again bother the young master, really. Poison them or give them an unpleasant experience at the manor.

Bard did not have any specific orders, so he decided to spare the intruders.

Just this once. Mey-Rin had fired a warning shot. Finny had hesitated when throwing the statue. He would spare them.

Well. One of them. One was bleeding, and would likely not survive.

The other one. The one with the young master. He looked somewhat familiar, so he chose to spare him.

Grell rushed to his partner, letting go of Ciel altogether.

"Ronnie! Let's get out of here, you're bleeding." When he saw him looking at Ciel, Grell helped him up and said, "With or without the brat!" His arm slung over Grell's shoulder, the reaper snarled, before they both slowly disappeared.

Dissipated into thin air.

Like they were but dust particles.


	5. Chapter 5

Snake's ears did not register the sound of the brush bristles grinding against the tiled floor; his thoughts were too loud, increasing in volume as the seconds flew by.

 _If you don't finish by the time the sun rises, Mey-Rin will surely see them when she'll sweep the stairs_.

 _Or maybe Bard will, when he'll head to the kitchen._

 _Finny probably won't realize what they are._

 _No, he will._

 _Don't forget to check for blood puddles outside._

The other servants had gone back to sleep, oblivious to the numerous dark red pools around the manor—although Snake couldn't blame them. If he hadn't nearly slipped while climbing the stairs, he would never have discovered the splatters of blood. The manor was devoid of light at night, save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows (which, in the end, was of little help).

Determined to rid the floors and carpets of any crimson substance, Snake scrubbed, pausing only to brush the hair out of his eyes. His hand froze as it neared his nose, and slowly, it returned to its previous position.

Snake bit his lip.

He knew that no matter how hard he would try to remove the stench from them, his hands would definitely reek of soap and blood in the morning.

At least nobody would see his master's spilt blood, much less suspect him of suicidal actions.

* * *

Books were removed from their shelves, forced to join the others that were already on the floor. Piles grew large and abundant, though Ciel paid them no mind. His attention was focused elsewhere—the shelves that still needed to be emptied. There weren't many (he had been in the library for almost an hour, and he had worked fast), but he wanted to hurry.

He was certain that there wasn't much time left before his servants would wake.

Something grazed the tips of his fingers, and, Ciel noted, it didn't feel like it belonged to a book. It was too far back on the shelf to be one anyway.  
Sliding away some of the volumes, Ciel clenched his fist around the locket (he assumed it was one, for when he ran his thumb over it he could feel its chain and the pendants it held) and pulled it out.

It took him a moment to recognize it, though he still turned it around in his fingers, looking for the loopy handwriting. As he read all of the unfamiliar names on each pendant's back, he sighed. It wasn't his locket.

But he had skimmed through the names, unaware that he had missed the most important one. Backtracking, he started reading again, slowly, until he reached the name.

Claudia Phantomhive.

It was his locket after all.

Undertaker's.

 _No matter how thin this thread is, I will grasp it._

 _And no matter how untrustworthy it is, I will believe that it won't let me fall again._

* * *

The kitchen pipes groaned as water spewed out of the tap, encountering Snake's hands before tumbling through the drain. In the dark he scrubbed, desperate to obliterate the smell.

Yet he found it kind of funny that just a few hours ago he had been scrubbing the floor (trying to remove any traces of blood), and now he was scrubbing his hands (attempting—in vain—to rid his hands of the miasma).

He smiled.

Well, one of his endeavors was successful.

"Snake?"

Snake jumped, his tongue sliding in between his teeth just as they bore down. He didn't even register the sound that escaped his mouth as he scrunched his face up and closed his eyes. Then, as the pain started to subside, he let out a breath. Thankfully, he didn't taste any blood, but his tongue still throbbed in his mouth, begging for a cold towel.

"Snake? Did I frighten you?" His reaction seemed to have startled him too—Snake could tell by his tone of voice. He turned around, only to confirm his suspicion.

Ciel stood in the middle of the kitchen, an object (Snake wasn't close enough to make out any details, but he thought it looked like a necklace) clutched tightly in his hand.

"Um…no, not really. You just surprised me, that's all. I thought you were still asleep, Smile." Although he found it slightly difficult (and painful) to speak, Snake's tongue had stopped throbbing with its previous intensity.

"I woke up about an hour ago, and could not return to sleep. However, I find that I'm feeling quite rested and, I must admit, somewhat hungry." Ciel looked at Snake expectantly, waiting for him to take the hint.

"Shall I," Snake paused, contemplating all the available options, deciding to go with A, "go wake up Bard then?"

"No. The kitchen would most likely be in flames (if not already burned down) before Bardroy would manage to cook something edible." Snake stared at him for a second before his face fell.

"So you want me to cook something for you?"

Ciel smirked, nodding his head. "Yes, actually, though I don't expect you to prepare something too sophisticated. A French omelet will suffice." Perhaps Snake wouldn't have been so worried about making an omelet if he knew what it was or how to cook it, but he nevertheless agreed.

Not that he had a choice. He was the servant, and if his master demanded something of him, then he would obey.

"There should be a cook book with the recipe for it in one of the drawers. Oh, and after you carry out your task you may bring the omelet to the dining room. I will be waiting," he said, before leaving Snake alone in the kitchen.

Why were his snakes not awake yet?

The racket from last night must have woken them up, so at least one of them had to be nearby.

 _Oh no_.

If they were already awake when Ciel had come into his room, and if they had been spying on him…

It had to be Emily's idea; she must have convinced all the others to avoid him all day. Snake could only imagine what fun she and Wordsworth were having, laughing at him when he was fretting over what they called trivial things.

The omelet, as his master had called it, started to take on an inviting air (as a result of the footman following the instructions), yet Snake's anger refused to taper off.

Walking to the dining room with the completed dish, Snake created a litany of all the things he would deprive Emily of. She'd figure out a way to avoid being punished, though. She always thought of everything.

As he waited for Ciel to finish eating so he could dispose of the plate and cutlery, Snake quietly hummed, thinking of how he'd tell Emily how much he 'enjoyed' her little prank—with a calm demeanor nonetheless. Maybe then she would feel a little remorse.

"I wish to form a contract with you." Ciel had sat back in his chair, legs crossed and eyes trained on his footman. The contract mark on his right eye was glowing, albeit faintly.

 _Still valid_ , Snake thought.

Which meant that his master probably hadn't seen it yet (and he would make sure to tell him, when he deemed it necessary).

"A contract?"

"Yes, a contract. Aren't you demons supposed to want to form one?"

Snake should've seen that coming. Why had he even brought up the subject of contracts last night?

"Well, I'm not a demon."

"…Oh."

Snake felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Demons aren't the only creatures that can make contracts with humans, Smile."

Ciel cleared his throat, letting out a soft "I see".

"Why would you want to make a contract, though? And with me, of all people."

Ciel scoffed, regaining his aplomb.

"You are the closest thing I have to a demon, and I need your cooperation in order to find someone. He goes by the name Undertaker, and he's a grim reaper."

Frowning, Snake walked closer to the table.

"He's the one that sunk the Campania, isn't he? Why would you want to find him?"

He watched as Ciel took a deep breath, running his hands over the object Snake previously thought was a necklace.

"I…am convinced that he's my grandfather."

"Ah."

"Will you assist me in my quest?"

His master was confident in his conviction, and that was all he needed to know.

"Fine. I'll help you," he said. Realizing something, he added, "I know that you would have ordered me to help you anyway, even if I would have refused."

"I wanted to give you a choice."

"Even though you made that choice for me?"

"Games can be won in many ways, Snake. Sometimes the outcome is decided right from the start. Sometimes it's not, so you have to decide the result yourself, or let others do it for you."


	6. Chapter 6

When she had arrived at the Manor, the young master had given her a new life in the form of two lenses, connected by a thin frame.

They blurred her vision, and with it, the lines of reality. She no longer was a ruthless sniper—instead, she could pretend to be a bubbly (albeit clumsy) maid with an irritatingly shrill voice.

And even when the glasses were placed atop her head, she knew her joyful self was only a flick of the wrist away. She could come back to it as soon as the job was done.

Yet that day, as she and Finny neared the gates of the manor, her glasses were nowhere to be seen.

The act was over, and her mask had been left behind.

What need did she have for it now?

As she put an arm around a weeping Finny, Mey-Rin took note of the falling tears. They rolled down her cheeks, silently, just as the two rolled out of their old home.

They would meet up with the remaining servants when this last job would be completed. She would find a new mask then.

Another one. This was to be the fourteenth.

The others would understand.

All of them were Phantomhive servants, and all of them wore masks.

Some whose were more pronounced than others'.

* * *

Quickly making his way to the window, Snake observed two distinct figures—that of a young woman and a boy—heading toward the gates.

Mey-Rin and Finny.

Leaving so willingly, after having been ordered to do so only once.

"That's it," hissed Goethe from his perch on Snake's shoulder. "They know you're getting rid of them."

Snake continued to watch as the figures left the manor's grounds, Mey-Rin's arm coiling around Finny's shaking shoulders. He could see her own posture sag as they passed by the entrance, and her step slow drastically, almost coming to a halt.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, mouthing a silent good-bye to his fellow servants.

Trailing his fingers across the window sill, he listened to his reptilian friend as he chastised him—and occasionally stopped to huff or flick his tail. Snake wasn't bothered by his vehement rants, though; he knew Goethe could be a bit difficult to deal with at times, not unlike Ciel.

Speaking of the young master…

Snake still had to prepare for their leaving (he knew, from prior outings with the Phantomhive household, that the chauffeurs could easily become vexed if they waited for even a few minutes), since he had neglected to do so last night. Indeed, Snake had been busy trying to find patterns in the Undertaker's choice of location, although he ended up unable to pinpoint an exact place.

The only thing he succeeded in finding out was that, more often than not, the Undertaker ended up conducting his misdeeds in areas brimming with people. London, of course, was the main candidate, but even so, that didn't help much; it was a gargantuan city, and as such, overflowing with individuals.

Within an hour, Ciel and Snake had readied themselves for their permanent departure, having come up with outfits that hopefully looked like street garb, filled their pockets with the essentials (bringing even the smallest of suitcases could arouse a lot of suspicion) and gotten themselves a coach. Whilst performing all those tasks, Snake still found time to remind Ciel that the Dispatch would keep its eyes peeled and that (considering the many eyes the reaper organization had) a lot of eyes would be trying to track him down. Each time, Ciel's response had been a half-hearted nod and a blank stare.

"Clearly," Bronte told the footman, "something is bothering him."

"And clearly, you are very perceptive," he said, smiling. Bronte didn't respond, but Snake noticed the subtle straightening of her back, and the happy gleam shining in her eyes. He laughed as a scowling Emily demanded an explanation for the lack of praise for her.

Not even in the coach was the footman's grin replaced with a concerned countenance, for he knew that if Ciel wished to tell him what the reason for his distracted demeanor was, he would. He couldn't possibly press him for such information.

Plus, the chauffeur had given him a strange—almost frightened—look, and he didn't want to appear any more bizarre by frowning.

In the end, he needn't have worried.

"Do you miss them?"

"The other servants, you mean?" When his master gave no response, Snake nodded. "Yeah. Of course I do."

"Alright," he paused. "I think I do too. Who knew I'd miss those imbeciles?" Ciel let out a forced chuckle, lowering his head so he was staring straight at his hands. His fidgeting hands.

"And I…did the right thing, sending them away, didn't I?"

 _This is what's been bothering you, huh?_

"We couldn't have them to with us, and leaving them at the Manor would've left them at the mercy of the Dispatch. That being the case, I guess you did make the right choice."

The young earl nodded, clearing his throat. Snake waited for him to say something, but when he didn't, he assumed he wanted him to change the subject.

So he did. Or rather, he let Oscar do it for him.

"We're heading to London now, so I've been wondering: are we going to have any time to go shop—" Snake didn't finish translating the sentence.

Really, when had his snakes become so keen on embarrassing him?

 **A/N** : Okay, so for this to work in later chapters, the events in this story would have to take place after the Weston College Arc, which means that the Emerald Witch Arc (and all the ones following it) never really happened here. I should have probably mentioned this at the very beginning though, so…um…oops?


	7. Chapter 7

Stars were plastered over the sky, towering over the city, as the coach stopped before an alley. The chauffeur gave his clients less than fifteen seconds to get off, after which (having been paid from the outset) he made haste to depart.

Ciel remained rooted to his spot for a few more moments as his footman seemed to review the way to the chosen inn in his mind. The boy had seen him stuff a map in his coat pocket before they left, but the moon barely provided enough light to see by, let alone read. He had just started wondering whether his footman was playing a cruel joke on him, when he muttered something akin to a "let's go" and started towards the opposite end of the alley. Ciel followed suit.

It took them about ten minutes to reach the inn—ten minutes of avoiding the shadows who lurked behind corners of run-down buildings, and altering their route accordingly—and once they did, they found out that the only available room was free for three nights, at most. Snake turned slightly, throwing a questioning look at his master, noiselessly asking him if he thought they should look for another boarding house.

Ciel jerked his head a few centimeters to the right, then brought it back in its original spot.

 _No._

Snake asked for the keys.

He didn't request an explanation when they entered their frugal room, which was fine with Ciel. He had his reasons, albeit a bit childish.

 _No, not childish_ , Ciel chastised himself. _Hopeful._

He figured their search for the Undertaker couldn't take much more than two days; he had left Ciel with the lockets, so he must have known that he'd be able to find him.

Yes, and he _would_. The Undertaker would know what to do after that.

He was his grandfather, after all.

* * *

Though there were not a lot of times when the master found himself sharing a room with his servant, every now and then came a peculiar exception. The boy deemed it inevitable as he sat on his bed—the sole bed in their room. With the many uncanny aspects the Phantomhive name brought along, this was to be expected.

But Snake refused to sleep on the floor, saying that it was too cold for his friends, and insisting that even the floor in his attic room wasn't that frigid; he couldn't take the bed either, for his master could not possibly sleep on the floor. And sharing it was out of the question. Ciel saw one of his footman's snakes hiss something in his ear, and Snake immediately translated its suggestion.

" _We'll have to improvise_ , says Wordsworth."

And so, Cie found himself watching Snake as he tried to make a decent bed out of two wooden chairs, one thin sheet and an old cushion, his companions offering advice from time to time. At least Ciel thought they were doing so, as Snake kept nodding and making small adjustments to the "bed". Minutes passed, and Snake was still working.

Soon, Ciel's attention could no longer be held by the struggling footman. Letting out a sigh, he allowed himself to fall back and his head to sink onto the pillow. Creaks resounded in the room while the frame sagged to the point where it was a few inches short of touching the floor.

"Good night, Smile," said Snake, without looking up.

"I'm not going to sleep," Ciel replied, more out of habit than anything. He sent a furtive glance towards Snake, in time to see his upper lip twitch.

He let it slide.

 **A/N: This is a bit** **short, I know, but it's kind of an in-between chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

The moon's silver rays peeked through the grimy old window, illuminating the two figures by the makeshift bed. They sat on the floor with the wrinkled map spread between them, while the snakes slumbered on the two chairs. Ciel could hear their sporadic hisses and sputters, and he was certain that only his footman would be able to tell them apart. He all but envied their peaceful rest, although he couldn't let himself sleep.

Not yet.

"Undertaker's parlor, the sinking Campania, and Weston College," Ciel whispered, so as not to wake the snakes. He pointed to each place (or an approximation of the location) respectively on the map. "Now, the Undertaker may seem like one who does not care for meticulous plans, but I assure you that's not the case. These venues are connected, albeit loosely. All we have to do is find the pattern."

He turned the map over and reached into his pocket, only to grasp at thin air. His hand shot to his other pocket, and he seethed when an image of the pen falling out painted itself in his head.

 _What a bother._

He looked at Snake, whose eyebrows were lifted slightly, his mouth shifted somewhat to the right.

It was almost as if it was asking him a question.

"It looks like I have lost my pen, but never mind that; we are not little children. We can keep in mind—"

Ciel cut himself off when he saw Snake stand up and take a step forward, hovering for a moment over his friends. He swiped a thin, pointed item out of one of the snakes' clutches, and Ciel suddenly found it mere inches from his face.

The fountain pen.

Snake's face held an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Oscar doesn't usually steal anything, but he likes being difficult sometimes. He's one sneaky fellow."

The pen was brought closer to his face, and the boy took it with a huff. The footman resumed his position across from him once more. Pen poised over the blank side of the map, Ciel said softly, "Start listing any important points that come to mind. I will add also add anything that I deem significant."

"Okay. This is kind of obvious, but connection one: each time he shows up, dead people are bound to be involved."

"Yes," Ciel paused, and the room was momentarily engulfed by the sound of inky letters being etched onto paper, until he continued, "although there is more to it than that."

"He's doing research for his Bizarre Dolls."

"I wouldn't necessarily call it 'research'. It's closer to testing out a method _based_ on research."

"He was probably still doing it when he worked as an undertaker, though, seeing as it would've been the best excuse to study souls. He could have done direct experimenting, but after a while he could have decided that he wasn't getting enough test subjects."

"His experimenting was also quite limited; if the relatives of the deceased were to notice that something was amiss, he would have been punished. He couldn't afford to be slowed down by that."

"And it's not like he could just dig up their graves either; someone would have noticed, so after he considered his research to be complete, he got to testing his theory right away."

Ciel nodded and leaned against one of the chairs. _Half a decade of conducting research on reviving humans. A bit reminiscent of Mary Shelley's_ Frankenstein _._

"Alright. Second connection. The radical mix between social classes and age groups."

"He chooses places like this on purpose, doesn't he?"

The pen ceased its movement for a split second, after which Ciel nodded. "Like I said, he doesn't seem to be fond of meticulous plans, but the patterns here state otherwise. Blending in when surrounded by such a variety of people would be rather simple, but the biggest reason is most likely the number of available test subjects.

"He would have to test out his method multiple times, to make certain that it works for more than just one group of people. Not to mention the differing lengths of time one has been deceased for must be considered. Naturally, for someone long dead, extra effort and resources would be needed."

The locket was forever looming over every thought of his, trickling into his dreams at night, forcing him to check for the loopy writing—his grandmother's name—in his waking moments.

Claudia Phantomhive was the sole thing he could see written on the locket, her dark curl his only focus.

He had never met her, nor had he been around for her funeral.

"It looks like he made a lot of progress in such a short amount of time, which ties in with the third connection. The appearance of a secret society," Snake said.

But soon the writing would be erased from his mind, replaced by the string he had been so desperate to hang on to.

 _Soon. So_ _hurry up and make it "sooner"._

"That is because associations like these often have a lot of power in their community. However, they can be influenced easily. Let's take the Aurora Society as an example. Most of the members were so passionate about bringing people back from the dead that they let themselves be manipulated by the Undertaker."

"I see now."

"And even if not all the members agreed, they listened to the ones who had, afraid that they might be singled out," Ciel muttered. He closed his eyes, stifling a yawn. He had waited for Snake to set up the bed, and while he did so, the boy had kept true to his word.

He had not slept; he merely dozed off a few times, and thus, his lids had grown heavier and heavier during his conversation with Snake.

"We can continue tomorrow, if you'd like. It's pretty late now anyway."

Ciel weighed the options.

He made his way to his bed. The _real_ bed.

Once he was settled beneath the rough covers, he turned to face his footman, who was lying down beside the makeshift bed. There was one other thing looming over his thoughts.

Right behind the locket.

"Snake?"

"What is it?"

"If you're not a demon, then…what are you?"

He didn't receive a response.

Then, he saw Snake's shoulders shake, and shortly after, he heard a chuckle.

"You could call me a hybrid, I guess."

"Between a snake and a human?"

The chuckle turned into a quiet laugh.

"Don't laugh at your master's words."

"I'm sorry. I thought I told you this before, but apparently, I forgot," the laughter quickly died out, and Snake continued. "I'm not a hybrid in the sense that two species were crossed to get to me. See, the contract I made was so I could be changed."

"Well, what did you want to change into?"

"A human. As you can see, the transformation worked—partly."

Ciel closed his eyes.

Just one more thing.

"Why did you want to change into one so badly? There really is nothing special about being human."

"Hm. Not if you compare it to a terribly venomous little monster. The kind that hates the smell of weasels."

 _The basilisk. How interesting._

At least now there was nothing behind the locket. Perhaps but some mild curiosity.

That was all.


End file.
